© 2000

HE WAS a prince to his fingertips. Tall, black-haired, his head set at a proud angle, Prince Ali Ben Saleem, Sheikh of the principality of Kamar, drew everyone’s gaze as he walked into the casino.

It wasn’t just his handsome features and his tall body with its combination of power and grace. There was something about him that seemed to proclaim him skilful at everything he attempted. And so men regarded him with envy, women with interest.

Frances Callam watched with the others, but her eyes held a peculiar intentness. Ali Ben Saleem was the man she had come here to study.

She was a freelance journalist, much in demand for her skill at profiling people. Editors knew that she was unbeatable in stories where large sums of money were concerned. And Ali was one of the wealthiest men in the world.

‘Will you look at that?’ Joey Baines breathed in awe, watching Ali’s imperial progress to the tables. Joey was a private detective whom she sometimes hired as an assistant. She’d brought him along tonight as cover while she visited the casino and watched Ali at play.

‘I’m looking,’ Fran murmured. ‘He certainly lives up to the legend, doesn’t he? In appearance anyway.’

‘What’s the rest of the legend?’

‘He’s a law unto himself, accountable to nobody for where his money comes from or where it goes to.’

‘But we know where it comes from,’ Joey objected. ‘Those oil wells he’s got gushing away in the desert.’

‘And a lot of it vanishes in places like this,’ Fran said, looking around her with disapproval.

‘Hey, Fran, lighten up. Can’t we enjoy life among the fleshpots for just one night? It’s in a good cause.’